Authors: Rainbow Rowell
realized she’d used up all her
adrenaline knocking.
‘Hi,’ she said weakly.
He looked mean and mad as
spit. Gil could dirty-look Tina
right under the table, and then
he’d probably kick her.
‘Can I use your phone?’ she
asked. ‘I need to call the police.’
‘What?’ Gil barked. His hair
was oiled down, and he even
wore suspenders with his pajamas.
‘I need to call 911,’ she said.
She sounded like she was trying to
borrow a cup of sugar. ‘Or maybe
you could call 911 for me? There
are men in my house with …
guns. Please.’
Gil didn’t seem impressed, but
he let her in. His house was really
nice inside. She wondered if he
used to have a wife – or if he just
really liked ruffles. The phone
was in the kitchen. ‘I think there
are men in my house,’ Eleanor
told the 911 operator. ‘I heard
gunshots.’
Gil didn’t tell her to leave, so
she waited for the police in his
kitchen. He had a whole pan of
brownies on the counter, but he
didn’t
offer
her
any.
His
refrigerator was covered with
magnets shaped like states, and he
had an egg timer that looked like a
chicken. He sat at the kitchen table
and lit a cigarette. He didn’t offer
her one of those either.
When the police pulled up,
Eleanor walked out of the house,
feeling silly suddenly about her
bare feet. Gil shut the door behind
her.
The cops didn’t get out of their
car. ‘You called 911?’ one of them
asked.
‘I think there’s somebody in
my house,’ she said shakily. ‘I
heard
people
yelling
and
gunshots.’
‘All right,’ he said. ‘Hang on a
minute, and we’ll go in with you.’
With
me, Eleanor thought. She
wasn’t going back in there at all.
What was she going to say to the
Hells Angels in her living room?
The police officers – two big
guys in tall black boots – parked
and followed her up onto the
porch.
‘Go ahead,’ one said, ‘open
the door.’
‘I can’t. It’s locked.’
‘How’d you get out?’
‘The window.’
‘Then go back through the
window.’
The next time Eleanor called
911, she was going to request cops
who wouldn’t send her alone into
an occupied building. Did firemen
do this, too?
Hey, kid, you go in
first and unlock the door
.
She climbed in the window,
climbed
over
Maisie
(still
sleeping), ran into the living room,
opened the front door, then ran
back to her room and sat on the
bottom bunk.
‘This is the police,’ she heard.
Then she heard Richie cussing,
‘What the fuck?’
Her mom: ‘What’s going on?’
‘
This is the police
.’
Her brothers and sisters were
waking up and crawling to each
other frantically. Someone stepped
on the baby and he started to cry.
Eleanor
heard
the
police
tramping through the house. She
heard
Richie
shouting.
The
bedroom door flew open, and
their mom came in like Mr
Rochester’s wife, in a long, torn,
white nightgown.
‘Did you call them?’ she asked
Eleanor.
Eleanor nodded. ‘I heard
gunshots,’ she said.
‘Shhhh,’ her mother said,
rushing to the bed and pressing
her hand too hard over Eleanor’s
mouth. ‘Don’t say anything more,’
she hissed. ‘If they ask, say it was
a mistake. This was all a mistake.’
The door opened, and her
mother moved her hand away.
Two flashlights shot around the
room. Her siblings were all awake
and crying. Their eyes flashed like
cats’.
‘They’re just scared,’ her
mother said. ‘They don’t know
what’s happening.’
‘There’s nobody here,’ the cop
said to Eleanor, shining his light in
her direction. ‘We checked the
yard and the basement.’
It was more of an accusation
than an assurance.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I
thought I heard something …’
The lights went out, and
Eleanor heard all three men
talking in the living room. She
heard the police officers on the
porch, with their heavy boots, and
she heard them drive away. The
window was still open.
Richie came into the room
then – he never came into their
room. Eleanor felt a new flood of
adrenaline.
‘What were you thinking?’ he
asked softly.
She didn’t say anything. Her
mother held her hand, and Eleanor
locked her jaw shut.
‘Richie, she didn’t know,’ her
mom said. ‘She just heard the
gun.’
‘What the fuck,’ he said,
slamming his fist into the door.
The veneer splintered.
‘She
thought
she
was
protecting us, it was a mistake.’
‘Are you trying to get rid of
me?’ he shouted. ‘Did you think
you could get rid of me?’
Eleanor hid her face in her
mother’s shoulder. It wasn’t a
protection. It was like hiding
behind the thing in the room he
was most likely to hit.
‘It was a mistake,’ her mother
said gently. ‘She was trying to
help.’
‘You never call them here,’ he
said to Eleanor, his voice dying,
his eyes wild. ‘Never again.’
And then, shouting, ‘I can get
rid of all of you.’ He slammed the
door behind him.
‘Back to bed,’ her mother said.
‘Everybody …’
‘But,
Mom
…’
Eleanor
whispered.
‘In bed,’ her mom said,
helping Eleanor up the ladder to
her bunk. Then her mom leaned
in close, her mouth touching
Eleanor’s ear. ‘It was Richie,’ she
whispered. ‘There were kids
playing basketball in the park,
being loud … He was just trying
to scare them. But he doesn’t have
a license, and there are other
things in the house – he could
have been arrested. No more
tonight. Not a breath.’
She knelt down with the boys
for a minute, petting and hushing,
then floated out of the room.
Eleanor could swear she heard
five hearts racing. Every one of
them was stifling a sob. Crying
inside out. She climbed out of her
bed and into Maisie’s.
‘It’s okay,’ she whispered to
the room. ‘It’s okay now.’
CHAPTER 25
Park
Eleanor seemed off that morning.
She didn’t say anything while they
waited for the bus. When they got
on, she dropped onto their seat
and leaned against the wall.
Park pulled on her sleeve, and
she not-even-half smiled.
‘Okay?’ he asked.
She glanced up at him. ‘Now,’
she said.
He didn’t believe her. He
pulled on her sleeve again.
She fell against him and hid
her face in his shoulder.
Park laid his face in her hair
and closed his eyes.
‘Okay?’ he asked.
‘Almost,’ she said.
She pulled away when the bus
stopped. She never let him hold
her hand once they were off the
bus. She wouldn’t touch him in
the hallways. ‘People will look at
us,’ she always said.
He couldn’t believe that still
mattered to her. Girls who don’t
want to be looked at don’t tie
curtain tassels in their hair. They
don’t wear men’s golf shoes with
the spikes still attached.
So today he stood by her
locker and only thought about
touching her. He wanted to tell her
his news – but she seemed so far
away, he wasn’t sure she’d hear
him.
Eleanor
Where would she go this time?
Back to the Hickmans’?
‘Hey, remember that time
when my mom asked if I could
stay with you guys for a few days,
and then she didn’t come back for
a year? I really appreciate the fact
that you didn’t turn me into Child
Protective Services. That was very
Christian of you. Do you still have
that foldout couch?’
Fuck.
Before Richie moved in,
Eleanor only knew that word from
books
and
bathroom
walls.
Fucking woman. Fucking kids.
Fuck you, you little bitch – who
the fuck touched my stereo?
Eleanor hadn’t seen it coming
the last time. When Richie kicked
her out.
She couldn’t have seen it
coming because she never thought
it could happen. She never
thought he’d try – and she never,
ever
thought her mom would go
along with it. (Richie must have
recognized before Eleanor did that
her mother’s allegiances had
shifted.) It was embarrassing to
think about the day that it
happened – embarrassing, on top
of everything else – because it
really was Eleanor’s fault. She
really was asking for it.
She was in her room, typing
song lyrics on an old manual
typewriter that her mom had
brought home from the Goodwill.
It needed new ribbon (Eleanor
had a box full of cartridges that
didn’t fit), but it still worked. She
loved
everything
about
that
typewriter, the way the keys felt,
the sticky, crunchy noise they
made. She even liked the way it
smelled, like metal and shoe
polish.
She was bored that day, the
day it happened.
It was too hot to do anything
but lie around or read or watch
TV. Richie was in the living room.
He hadn’t gotten out of bed until
2:00 or 3:00, and everybody could
tell he was in a bad mood. Her
mom was walking around the
house in nervous circles, offering
Richie lemonade and sandwiches
and aspirin. Eleanor hated it when
her
mom
acted
like
that.
Relentlessly submissive. It was
humiliating to be in the same
room.
So Eleanor was upstairs typing
song lyrics. ‘Scarborough Fair.’
She heard Richie complaining.
‘What the fuck is that noise?’
And, ‘Fuck, Sabrina, can’t you
shut her up?’
Her mom tiptoed up the stairs
and
ducked
her
head
into
Eleanor’s room. ‘Richie isn’t
feeling well,’ she said. ‘Can you
put that away?’ She looked pale
and nervous. Eleanor hated that
look.
She waited for her mother to
get
back
downstairs.
Then,
without really thinking about why,
Eleanor deliberately pressed a key.
A
Crunch-lap
.
Her fingertips trembled over
the keyboard.
RE
Crch-crch-lap-tap
.
Nothing happened. No one
stirred. The house was hot and
stiff and as quiet as a library in
hell. Eleanor closed her eyes and
jerked her chin into the air.
YOU
GOING
TO
SCRABOROUGH
FAIR
PARSLEY
SAAGE
ROSEMAYRY AND THYME
Richie came up the stairs so
fast, in Eleanor’s head he was
flying. In Eleanor’s head, he burst
open the door by hurling a ball of
fire at it.
He was on her before she
could brace herself, tearing the
typewriter from her hands and
throwing it into the wall so hard it
broke through the plaster and
hung for a moment in the lath.
Eleanor was too shocked to
make out what he was shouting at
her. FAT and FUCK and BITCH.
He’d never come this close to
her before. Her fear of him
crushed her back. She didn’t want
him to see it in her eyes, so she
pressed her face into her hands in
her pillow.
FAT and FUCK and BITCH.
And
I
WARNED
YOU,
SABRINA.
‘I
hate
you,’